Call of the Wintermoon
by Athenais Doom Occulta
Summary: More grim, frostbitten adventures! \m/  Something is rotten at Hogwarts, Freyja and the Trio join forces, and Harry may hold the key to rescuing Neville.  A tribute to a fandom classic, AU from book six on.  Neville/OFC pairing.  I appreciate crit.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Potterverse stuff is Rowling's, and the Poetic Edda, as far as I know, is in the public domain.

Chapter I  
_Hljóðs bið ek allar helgar kindir,  
meiri ok minni mögu Heimdallar;  
viltu, at ek, Valföðr! vel framtelja forn spjöll fíra,  
þau er fremst um man._

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My name is Freyja Tristessa Moonsorrow Ravendark Explosion. I have long black hair - it's naturally blonde, but I color it with a charm - and blue-gray eyes the color of a clear winter sky reflected off polished steel. I'm five-foot-nine, and I'm pretty buff but not in a manly looking way, whatever Malfoy says. (The little weasel's just bitter because I beat both of his minions in the Inter-House Arm Wrestling Competition. Honestly! Some people need to learn to stop being afraid of strong women.) I also have big boobs, but that doesn't make me a slut. I'm a quarter Valkyrie on my mother's side, but I don't have a flying horse or anything. (Just a raven.) I'm also a witch. My mother taught me seidhr, the ancient art of Norse witchcraft, but I'm currently a sixth-year student at Hogwarts studying southern-style magic. I'm also a huge metalhead, and I love all things grim, brutal, and Nordic. Today I was wearing the Hogwarts uniform skirt and robe with black fishnet stockings, black combat boots, studded leather bracers, my favorite Amon Amarth t-shirt, my silver Thor's Hammer pendant, a silver serpent brooch, a bronze wire dragon head torque, and silver and amber Celtic knot earrings. I don't normally wear much makeup, but I had on some mascara to bring out my eyelashes - they're very long, but since they're normally blonde like my hair this isn't always obvious. I was also wearing black eyeliner.

It was a grim afternoon in November, with the gray sky barely illuminated by the last rays of the dying sun. It was somewhere between snowing and raining, and the fat, wet flakes of slush stung when they hit my skin, like the drops of venom falling on the face of Loki, only not literally, since the clouds were just clouds and not giant drooling poisonous snakes, even if that would have been pretty badass. "Brutal," I said.

"Hey, Freyja!" someone shouted. It was... Neville Longbottom!

"Hei!" I said. (I speak Norwegian.) What's up, Neville?"

"Er, nothing," he said shyly. "Um, it looks like it wants to freeze tonight. I'd better bring in my umbrella flowers. Goodbye!"

I wondered what all that was about, but I heard my friends call and I joined them instead of following Neville.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you so much for reading! \m/ Flames will be thrown into the maw of the Midgard Serpent. And in case anybody's worrying, Freyja's fur blankets come from a magical species that sheds their skin, so please, don't send me any flames lecturing me about ecology or animal rights. No Arctic Three-Horned Fluffskeins were harmed in the writing of this chapter!

The lyrics to "Hold The Heathen Hammer High" are by Heri Joensen.

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The next morning I awoke in my bedroom before the November sunlight had done more than faintly disturb the all-encompassing frosty void of night. I burrowed out from under my pile of Arctic Three-Horned Fluffskein fur blankets, parted my chainmail bed curtains, and poured myself a glass of mead. I took off the oversized Bathory t-shirt I slept in and changed into a black wool medieval-style dress with a lace-up bodice, since I knew it was going to be a cold day. I brushed and braided my hair, used a Follicula chromati charm to touch up my roots, put on my jewelry, and applied a little mascara and black eyeliner. I used another charm to touch up my nail polish.

My friend Luna woke up then and smiled at me in her "I've got something crazy to tell you" way. It could've meant that she was on the verge of a breakthrough that would eventually unify magic and Muggle science, or it could have meant that she'd stayed up all night wondering if Mosps could pick up the Muggle wireless through their antennae. She hadn't dressed yet and was wearing her usual sleepwear, which consisted of a Devin Townsend Band t-shirt (she's a big fan of Ziltoid the Omniscient), a mead-cork necklace, and Acromantula slippers.

"Hey, I saw you talking to Neville yesterday!" she said excitedly.

"Ja? So?" I said, not as calmly as I would have liked.

"Do you like him?" she asked as she got dressed.

"Don't be ridiculous!" I shouted. Since I've studied opera, I have excellent lung power, which means that sometimes things come out louder than I want them to, especially if I'm feeling emotional.

"If you don't like him, why do you talk to him?" Luna asked, as we left the Ravenclaw common room and headed to the Great Hall.

"It's not like that! It's just-" Just then, Neville walked up to us.

"Hi," he said.

"Hei," I replied.

"Guess what," he said.

"Ragnarok's happening early this year, so they've canceled exams?" I suggested.

"Er, not as far as I know. But Týr are having a concert in Hogsmeade," he told me.

"Oh dear sweet... ODIN'S MISSING EYE ON A RICE CRACKER!" I screamed. I love Viking Metal.

"Well... if you aren't horribly busy or anything, would you like to go with me?" he asked.  
I gasped.

On the night of the concert I put on my black leather pants, my dragon-hide boots, a black top with lots of metal detailing that laced up like a corset on the front and black, and dragon-hide spiked wristbands. I unbraided my hair and brushed it out so that the ends brushed against the top of my hips. There was still some time before the concert, so I got out my seax and did some katas to work off some of my nervous energy. I wound up lunging too hard and straining my elbow. I bandaged it up and read some of the Poetic Edda and contemplated the brutality of existence while I waited for the Chilling Charm to kick in (one of the advantages of magic – it's a lot less messy than ice packs.) Then I touched up my nail polish and makeup, had a glass of mead, and left to meet Neville.

Neville was waiting outside by his flying Volvo P1800. He was wearing Muggle-style clothes: just jeans, boots, a black t-shirt, a belt with a skull buckle, and a Thor's Hammer pendant – but they looked good on him.

"Hei, Neville!" I said grimly.

"Hi, Freyja," he said back. We walked to his flying Volvo (the license plate said MJOLLNIR) and flew to the concert venue on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. On the way there we listened to Amon Amarth and Bathory and shared a bottle of mead, although Neville put a spell on his half that kept him from getting drunk because he was driving. When we got there, we both jumped out of the car. Neville had bought the tickets ahead of time, so we didn't have to wait too long. We went to the mosh pit in front of the stage and I almost got squashed by a couple of guys who must have been part giant as we listened to Týr.

"Heathen heart

Pagan pride

Faring far

Sword by side

Tribal times

Northern nights

Hidden high

Runic rites I was told

Hold the heathen hammer high!"

"Heri Joensen is a sexy beast," I said to Neville, as he filled the club with the sound of his amazing voice and guitar.

Neville seemed vaguely depressed by this, although I'd seen him enjoying the music as much as I had.

"What's wrong?" I asked, once I'd caught my breath again. Then I caught on. "Hey, it's okay, I still like you better!"

"Really?" he asked a bit dubiously.

"Really. Besides, I think he's married."

The concert was beautifully brutal, and I had a great time, as did Neville. After the concert, we got autographs and pictures with the band and bought Týr concert tees. Then we went to the Hog's Head and tried different kinds of wizarding beer from foreign countries. I got some Finnish stuff that was supposed to be a recreation of a recipe created by ancient Finnish shamans. I don't know if it would give you any powers to commune with the spirit world or not, since, being part-Valkyrie, I can sense that sort of thing already, but it was tasty. After we'd finished our beer, we walked around Hogsmeade for a while and talked about music and the brutality of existence, while the cold November midnight air chilled our flesh and the stars bathed us in their uncaring light. When we got back to the Volvo, Neville didn't go straight back to Hogwarts – instead, he drove into... The Forbidden Forest!

"Neville!" I shouted, a little louder than I meant to, "What in the name of Odin do you think you're doing?"

Neville didn't answer, but he did land the car and walk out of it. I did too, since I wanted to know just what was going on.

"Neville, would you like to explain this?" I asked.

"Freyja?" he asked.

"Ja?"

Neville leaned closer, and I got a good look into his eyes. I'd never noticed it at first – maybe he'd even been trying to cover it up – but his eyes held so much pain, and courage, and suffering, and just plain badassery, that it made everything we'd said about brutality while walking on the streets of Hogsmeade look like so much Hot Topic mass-market wannabe fluff. I knew then, in the depths of my frosty Northern heart, that Neville Longbottom was the most metal man I had ever met, and at that moment, I didn't feel irritated with him anymore.

And then... suddenly, Neville kissed me passionately. I'm not an easy girl to push around, but the force of it sent me stumbling back a few steps and I wound up with my back pressed against a tree. We kissed again, and our tongues met with the fervor of two berserkers on the battlefield, but fortunately, none of the bloodshed. Neville slid his hand a few inches under the back of my top, but then stopped and just looked at me. I wondered if something was wrong but then realized he was just trying to be gentlemanly. "No, that's good, go on. I'm not made of glass." After that I had to shift a little so that Neville's hands could reach the laces on the back of my top without getting squashed into the bark of the tree. I knew I had twigs in my hair and that this wasn't doing my best leather pants any favors at all, but I did not care. I was in love.

"Mmm, Neville, yes, right there!" I told him, as he nibbled on my neck like a particularly polite vampire. "Mmm, yes, ODIN!" Despite the chill of the night air, my body was aflame with passion (not literally, even if spontaneously combusting while making out would have been a pretty brutal way to go.) Alas, it could not last...

"WHAT IN HEL'S NAME DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING?" It was... Dumbledore!


	3. Chapter 3

Dumbledore made Neville and I follow him out of the forest. He was not pleased. "You ludicrous young fools!" he shouted.

I hardly ever cry, but at that moment, I wanted to. Neville squeezed my hand comfortingly, but if he was half as upset about the whole business as I was, he didn't show it. When we finally reached the castle, Dumbledore took us to Professors Snape and McGonagall, and lo, their wrath was mighty.

"They were having sexual intercourse in the Forbidden Forest!" he shouted, rather louder than even I thought was really necessary.

I wondered if I should point out that, technically, we hadn't quite reached that point when we'd been interrupted, but I didn't think it would necessarily have helped our cases and I didn't want to embarrass Neville, so I kept quiet.

"Why did you do such a thing, you hormone-addled dunces?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"How dare you?" demanded Professor Snape.

Neville kept holding my hand, and then said, quietly but with conviction, "With all due respect, professors, when a man is madly in love, there are things that become more important than following the rules."

Everyone was quiet with shock. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall still looked angry. Snape didn't look too happy, either, but then he never does, and he said, "That makes as much sense as anything you ever say, Longbottom. Very well. You may go up to your rooms."

Neville and I went upstairs as the teachers glared icy death at us.

"Are you okay, Freyja?" Neville asked.

"I've been better," I admitted, "But I'll be fine. How did you talk to the teachers like that? That was awesome."

"Oh, it wasn't that hard," Neville said. "Embarrassment's kind of like cold water. You spend enough time up to your neck in it and you start to build up a tolerance."

When we reached the dorms, I went into the girls' dorm and slipped into a miniskirt, Iron Maiden tee, and boots with lower heels than the dragon-hide ones I'd worn to the concert. I brushed my teeth and combed the twigs and bits of bark out of my hair. When I came out...

Neville was standing in front of the bathroom, and he started to sing "Dreams Come True" by Hammerfall. I was both flattered and immensely touched, even though he wasn't supposed to be there. We hugged and kissed goodnight, and after that, Neville reluctantly left for his own room.

I felt a little better the next day when I woke up beneath my chainmail bed curtains. I braided my hair and put on a black denim miniskirt, heavy red and black fishnet-pattern tights, a black Norwegian ski sweater with little skulls and pentagrams knitted into the pattern, my Thor's Hammer pendant, and my combat boots.

In the Great Hall, I had a bowl of Metal Bits cereal with mead instead of milk, a pickled herring and lingonberry on rye bread open-face sandwich, and a cup of coffee. I believe in starting the day with a good breakfast.

"Hey, Brunhilda, don't you think you shouldn't be drinking in your condition?" Malfoy yelled from his table. "It might hurt the baby!" Crabbe and Goyle looked on blankly until Malfoy elbowed them in the ribs and hissed, "It's funny because pregnant women eat weird things," at which point they both laughed nervously.

"What an idiot," said a deep growling voice behind me. I turned him around to ask him how any of this was his business, but forgot about my irritation as soon as I got a good look at him. Standing before me – or, technically, behind me – was a pale-skinned young man with long wavy black hair that fell past his shoulders. He wasn't a big guy, but he had his sleeves rolled up and I could tell that he had a nice set of biceps, as well as a few tattoos. He was wearing just a touch of guyliner that brought out his striking green eyes and dark lashes. He looked like a smaller, younger, slightly nerdy Peter Steele with a sexy English accent. If it hadn't been for the glasses and the scar on his forehead I would never have recognized Harry Potter.

"Hei, Harry," I said.

"Most people call me Grishnakh these days," he grumbled.

"Aren't you supposed to be _fighting_ the Dark Lord?" I asked, wondering why he'd named himself after either an evil minion from _The Lord of the Rings_ or a black metal musician.

"That's why I had to change it," Grishnakh said darkly. "The name Harry Potter just carries so much baggage! Sometimes I want to be something besides the Boy Who Lived!"

"That sounds pretty brutal," I said sympathetically.

We sat down and talked about music, the brutality of existence, and the annoying parts of being a celebrity as I finished my breakfast. Then Neville came up to us and told me he had a surprise for me, so I went away with him.

Neville and I held hands as we went upstairs. I waved to Grishnakh as I left. His eyes were like twin windows to the pits of the netherworld. Maybe he was jealous – being a hero can be oddly lonely. Anyway, I went upstairs with Neville in a fever of anticipation. We went to his room and locked the door. Then...

Neville had barely locked the door when he grabbed me and started kissing me passionately, and I reciprocated with all the fervor in my burning, icy heart. Last night, there had been a bit of nervousness on both our parts, but now – he wasn't rough at all, but I could tell he knew just what he wanted, and I was more than happy with it. "I don't know what's got into you," I growled, "but I like it."

We took our clothes off, and Neville turned out to have a pretty nice body. Maybe a little on the soft side, but I always thought those super-ripped bodybuilder types were kind of gross anyway. I also noticed he had a tattoo on his upper arm that his shirt had covered up. It was a black heart surrounded by a border of spikes and tiny skulls, and it had the name "Grishnakh" written on it in blood red runes.

"Um, Neville, min elskling..." I said, "I hate to ruin the mood, but please, tell me that you never had an affair with Varg Vikernes."

"What? Why would I do something like that? I've never even been to Norway! Oh, you were asking about the tattoo," he said, slightly embarrassed. "No, that was from a summer fling with Grishnakh _Potter_, right around the time he changed his name, in fact. We broke up a week after I got it."

"Really, you and Potter? That's... kind of hot, actually."

"It's bloody embarrassing, that's what it is!"

"I don't see why. A lot of girls have a thing for bi guys."

"That's not really the issue, Freyja. I just... don't like being reminded of the first time I got my heart broken whenever I take my shirt off."

"How about you come over here and I'll give you something else to think about," I said, leering playfully. He did, and I did, and a good time was had by all (with the possible exception of Grishnakh Potter.) I wanted to spend the entire day with him like that, but unfortunately, we both had classes in the afternoon.

I had Ancient Runes in the afternoon with my Hermione Granger. The class can be kind of frustrating because southern rune magic is just different enough from the classical Norwegian tradition that my mother taught me that it's easy to mix things up. Then there's my issue with trying not to grit my teeth too loudly when Professor Babbling tries to explain the historical or cultural context of what we're learning. The woman knows the magical side of her subject very well, I'll grant you that, but sometimes I think she learned everything she knows about Scandinavian culture from the Swedish Chef in that Muggle puppet show. That afternoon, I had less mental energy to expend on Professor Babbling's mangling of Old Norse because my mind was still trying to deal with everything Neville had told me.

After Ancient Runes I had a lot to think about, so I went for a walk in the grim, frostbitten forests of the Hogwarts grounds. I hoped Neville wouldn't think I was avoiding him, but I really wanted a little time alone to think about things.

Neville and Potter – well, at least it hadn't been Malfoy, and I did like and respect Potter as a person, even if he could be kind of angsty. Neville had said they weren't together anymore, and I had no reason to doubt him. Really, it wasn't reasonable for me to expect a guy like Neville to have no romantic history before he met me. Sure, a lot of Hogwarts might not have noticed how hot he was because he's not a bodybuilder or a skinny prettyboy, and he doesn't wear the latest Diagon Alley fashions, but I shouldn't have expected everyone except me to be blind or oblivious. And yet- there's something weird about not being your first love's first love.

A strange man rushing towards me on a broomstick interrupted my train of thought. He was unnaturally pale and wore black robes, but I was pretty sure he wasn't out in the forest to make a black metal video. When I got a good look at his face I was certain of it. It was... Voldemort!

"No!" I shouted. I tried to run away, but Voldemort froze me in place with a curse. I had no idea what he'd planned for me, but I resolved to, if necessary, die like a Viking.

"Freyja, daughter of Sonja," he croaked, "You must kill Harry Potter!"

Oh I must, must I? "Voldemort, son of I-don't-know-and-I-don't-care, I'm afraid I must decline your gracious offer." For all my ambivalence about Grishnakh's past relationship with Neville, I rather liked the guy, and I was certainly not going to go around murdering my fellow students on the orders of some noseless pseudo-Goth.

Voldemort gave me a gun, which, even in my distress, I thought was remarkably foolish of him. I shot at him with it, but either the gun wasn't loaded, or he must have enchanted it somehow, because no bullet came out. "You really thought it would be that easy?" he rasped, and then laughed maniacally. "You must kill Potter, or I will kill your darling Neville. Although I have no idea what you see in him."

"Wait, how did you know about us?" I asked.

Voldemort gave me what I assumed was the noseless snake-person version of the "I'm surrounded by idiots" look, and answered, "I have my sources. Kill Potter, or you know what will happen to Neville!" Then he flew off on his broomstick.

"Bloody Hel," I thought, "As if my life weren't complicated enough already. I'm not going to do You-Know-Who's dirty work, but I have to find a way to keep Neville safe! And what if he goes after any of my other friends?"

Suddenly, I saw Neville coming towards me through the trees. "Hei, Neville," I said wearily.

"Hi, Freyja," he said back. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I've been better," I answered. "Ran into someone I'd rather not have met..."

"Malfoy?" he asked sympathetically.

"No, him I could handle. Voldemort."

"Freyja, that's not – oh Odin, you aren't joking!"

"No, I'm not. And he wants me to kill Grishnakh! I refused, of course, but I have no idea what to do now! I don't want him going after you, or Luna, or anyone in the band..."

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Neville said soothingly. "We could even ask Dumbledore if it comes to it. He may not be very fond of us, but he's no friend of You-Know-Who."

"You're right!" I said. "We mustn't give up hope before the first blow is struck."

Still depressed, but determined to be brave about it, I headed back to Hogwarts with Neville.


	4. Chapter 4

I tried to carry on as normal for the rest of the day, but my encounter with Voldemort had left me in a foreboding mood that even music couldn't dispel. I still felt upset when I met the rest of Bloody Tears of the Fallen for band practice. We're a blackened Gothic power metal band that sounds like a cross between Cradle of Filth, Sirenia, and Dragon Force with a touch of Nightwish. I'm the lead singer and bassist, and the other members are Luna, Ginny, Ron (who goes by Loki nowadays), and Colin Creevey (although we call him Morgoth now). We perform a mixture of covers and original material. Ginny's arm was still a little sore from a Quidditch injury, so we took a break to work on some new material.

Ginny and I were working on the lyrics for "I Deep-Condition My Hair With the Blood of My Enemies" and trying to think of good rhymes for "decapitation" when the stress of the day finally caught up with me, something within me just collapsed, and I could feel that I was on the verge of tears.

"Freyja! Are you all right?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, of course I'm all right! And Baldr's alive and well in Asgard, the Muggle zoo in London just hatched its first dinosaur, and the Axis won World War II!"

"Dinosaurs?" said Luna, who had been looking over her new keyboard part and missed most of the conversation, "I wonder if they've had any luck with Snorcacks?"

"I was being sarcastic, Luna," I explained.

"That would make more sense," Luna said. "You seemed awfully upset for someone talking about a new advance in zoology."

"Sorry I snapped at you, Gin, but it's been one of Hel's own days. I ran into Voldemort in the forest, and the pasty noseless bastard told me I had to murder Harry for him. Now, as a matter of principle I refuse to help some sociopathic pseudo-Goth with his dirty work – let him murder his own damn teenagers if he's so fearsome and mighty – and besides, I like Harry, even if he did break Neville's heart last summer. But if I don't do it, Voldemort says he'll kill Neville!"

"Wait – Harry's gay?" said Ginny.

"Bi, I think..." I said, a little confused about what this had to do with anything.

"Oh, that's all right then," said Ginny, more to herself than to me.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Luna asked.

"About Neville and Harry? Because I just found out today."

"No, about Voldemort! We're your friends, we'd all help you. Right, guys?" Luna said. Everyone agreed.

"Thanks, everyone," I said. "Ginny, how's your arm doing?"

"I could punch out a troll if I had to."

"That's reassuring," I said.

We practiced for another hour and were just finishing a cover of "Through the Fire and Flames" when Dumbledore stormed in.

"Do any of you know where Neville Longbottom is?" he asked.

"He's not in the Gryffindor boys' rooms?" I responded.

"No," he said sharply. "He is nowhere in the castle, and no one I asked in Hogsmeade has seen him either."

"No!" I screamed. "Neville!"

"I take it that he isn't out gathering herbs in the Forbidden Forest, then," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. He took out a small paper bag with little pentagrams on it out of the pocket of his robe and held it out to me. "Care for a licorice skull? Muggle scientists say that the brain needs sugar to work properly."

I took one and started sucking on it. It was good, although I had to be careful not to let the little spikes stab me in the palate. "Thanks. These are really good. I didn't know sweets could be this brutal."

"Brutality can be found in the smallest of things, Miss Explosion," Dumbledore said, with an odd little Zen-master smile. "Now, what's the problem?"

"To be honest, sir, I was hoping my friends and I could settle this ourselves, but since you asked...

"I took a walk in the forest this afternoon and ran into You-Know-Who, or at least someone with an astonishing family resemblance. He threatened to kill Neville if I didn't murder Harry Potter for him, although he didn't tell me how or when he wanted it done. And he claims to have knowledge of what goes on inside Hogwarts, which is how he learned that Neville and I are going out."

"Not necessarily, Freyja," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "He could have been bluffing. You and Neville did spend the evening together in Hogsmeade not long ago. Let us hope this is so."

"But if Voldemort doesn't have a mole in the castle, what became of Neville?" I said.

"Have another licorice skull. You look like you could use it. I'm going to conduct some investigations and try to find out whether Neville left the castle and grounds under his own power, or if he was removed by a third party, or anything else useful. If any of you notice or remember anything that might be a clue to his whereabouts, please, tell me, even if it seems insignificant to you. And in the meantime, I've always found that this came in handy." He handed me a Muggle-style business card that said "DON'T PANIC" and walked briskly out the door of our practice room.

We ran through a couple more songs after that, but we were all too worried and stressed to really get into the music, and band practice broke up soon after.

"Oh, Odin," I prayed, as I went back to my room, "Please let Neville be all right."

When I got to my room, I put a Black Sabbath record on my gramophone (which had no electronics in it so it worked at Hogwarts), poured myself a glass of mead, and ran myself a bath with dragon's blood scented bubble bath. I took my wand and my seax into the bathroom with me – if there were kidnappers running around the school, I wanted to be prepared. Freyja Explosion does not go down without a fight.

I was soaking in the tub and painting my nails when I noticed a couple of figures on broomsticks outside my window. At first I'd assumed they were practicing Quidditch, but then I noticed that they weren't moving, and one of them was holding something that wasn't a ball. Odin's missing eye, was that a camera?

I threw on my red and black bathrobe with the chainmail trim and spiky shoulders, grabbed my wand and seax, and looked out the window. It was Crabbe and Goyle! "Expelliarmus!" I shouted. The camera flew from Crabbe's hands, but Goyle dove after it with more agility than I would have ever expected from him. "What in Hel's name is wrong with you two? Did all the Slytherin girls threaten to hex your toes off if you got within twenty feet of them, so you start perving on me instead? So help me, if Malfoy put you up to this, all three of you are going to be giant squid food!" I noticed Goyle flying away with the camera, so I hexed him and he fell off his broom and fell into some very thorny rosebushes. They broke his fall, but he was bleeding in about a dozen places from the thorns, and the little spurts of crimson blood made a rather striking contrast to the white roses. "Brutal," I said. Then I remembered something I wanted to tell Dumbledore, so I flung a black towel with a flaming skull design over the bathroom window so that no more people could spy on me and got dressed in a hurry.

The door to the Headmaster's office was shut when I got there, and I could hear people talking within, although even my Valkyrie senses couldn't tell exactly what was being said or who was saying it. I supposed in these troubled times Dumbledore wanted good soundproofing. Finally, the door opened. "Come in," Dumbledore said, "Severus and I have a few things to wrap up, but you might as well wait in comfort." I sat down and watched one of the odd little magical machines on one of the end tables while Dumbledore gathered up some of the papers on his desk into a pile and handed them to Snape. Snape walked toward the door and opened it, but before he could exit, Colin Creevey rushed up and gasped "HeyeveryoneweneedtotalkIthink..." he paused to catch his breath "that I saw something!"

Snape was not amused, especially since Colin was standing right in the doorway. "You see a lot, Mister Creevey. Have you considered teaming up with Professor Trelawney on that front, or would that interfere with your career as the school paparazzo?"

"I MAY BE THE SCHOOL PAPARAZZO..." Colin paused indignantly, "BUT I AM ALSO A VIKING!"

"Could have fooled me," said Snape dryly. "Where's your horned helmet?"

"Actually," Colin said excitedly, "the stereotypical horned Viking helmets are actually historically inaccurate. Real Viking Age helmets were-"

"Creevey, if I wanted to listen to an obnoxious Gryffindor show off their grasp of trivial information, I'd offer to help Hermione Granger study for her N.E.W.T.s. In case it has escaped your notice, one of your housemates is potentially in great danger, and the Headmaster and I have more than enough to occupy our attention at this time."

Dumbledore looked up from the papers on his desk, handed Snape a couple of odd pieces of parchment and what looked like a scroll in a case, and said, "Now, then, do you two have something you'd like to tell me?" We both nodded.

"I saw a rat snooping around the Gryffindor common room this morning," Colin said. "It didn't seem like it was looking for food, more just... exploring. It might just have been somebody's pet, but I don't know anyone in Gryffindor who has a rat that looks like that. Oh, and it hid under the furniture when it noticed I was watching it. I thought it might have actually been an Animagus or something."

"Thank you, Colin, that could be very relevant. Now, Freyja, did you have something?"

"Nothing that important. Just – he doesn't flaunt it, but Neville has a flying Muggle car. It's a black Volvo P1800, with a vanity plate that says MJOLLNIR. I just thought you might like to know because he or whoever took him might have used that to get away from here, since you can't Apparate on the school grounds."

"Really?" said Dumbledore, intrigued. "How does it run?"

"Very well, in my experience, although I've only taken it as far as Hogsmeade."

"Excellent!" he cried. "Thank you both, this could be very useful. Good day!" Colin and I took that as our invitation to leave.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Potterverse stuff is still JKR's, the One Ring inscription is Tolkien's. The lyrics from "Sear Me" belong to My Dying Bride.

A/N: thanks to Tara for the inspiration! \m/

I didn't like the thought of sitting back and leaving Neville's fate in Dumbledore's hands, but I had no idea where to start. Voldemort. A mysterious rat that may or may not have been an Animagus. Trespassers in the Forbidden Forest. Could Voldemort kill Grishnakh himself – if he could, why make me do it? Was Potter stronger than either of us knew and only someone with supernatural ancestry could take him down? Or was Voldemort just a jerk like that? And WHERE WAS NEVILLE?

I needed to talk to Potter. He knew as much about His Noselessness as anyone I knew except maybe Dumbledore, and, whatever his faults, I knew Potter wasn't going to go around acting all twinkly-eyed and enigmatic at me. I sent a note to Grishnakh asking him to meet me in one of the seldom-used tower rooms to have a cup of tea and work on some charts. I knew what this was normally a euphemism for amongst the student body, particularly Slytherin girls who weren't nearly as pure as they'd like their parents to believe, but I didn't really care. If anything, rumors that Potter and I were engaging in illicit trysts might help keep any Death Eater spies among the student body from getting suspicious.

Grishnakh came about three minutes late, and not looking happy. "This had better be good, Freyja. If Ron and the guys ever mention 'Astronomy Special Tutoring' in my presence again, I will not be responsible for the consequences."

"Pfft, they're just jealous. Speaking of them – did Loki – I mean, Ron - tell you about Neville?"

"He told me you were seeing each other – you'd think he could have told me himself, I thought we were still friends, at least – and that Neville had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. And there was something about you and Voldemort, but he didn't want to explain it right there with everyone else around."

"If it's any comfort to you, Neville and I only started dating a couple of days ago. You haven't missed much. And yes, Neville has disappeared. Dumbledore told me. There are suspicions that Voldemort's involved since I saw him in the Forbidden Forest yesterday afternoon and he threatened to kill Neville if I didn't kill you." Grishnakh gave me an apprehensive look. "I refused, of course, and I intend to keep doing so, but I'm afraid he's going to get vindictive. If he hasn't already." I noticed that Potter seemed unusually distracted, even allowing for the fact that talking about Voldemort may have brought up many bad memories for him. "Um, Grishnakh, are you all right? Grishnakh?" No response. He squinted off into the distance and winced.

"No!" he hissed under his breath, and clutched his forehead.

"Potter?" I said. "What's the matter?"

Potter's eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed to his knees. The ceiling beams started to creak a little. "No!" he rasped.

I ran over to check on him. "Harry? What's the matter?" There was an ominous sound like wood under mortal strain, and some dust and cobwebs fell from the ceiling. I grabbed Potter's shoulders and tugged him with me under the table.

There was another cracking noise from the ceiling, and Potter winced and clutched his forehead. "My scar... I saw something... He has Neville!" Before I could ask him to elaborate, there was an immense groan of splintering wood, and then a crash, as the ceiling fell on us.

The table had absorbed the majority of the impact, and I'd shielded Potter from most of the rest, so we both made it downstairs to the Hospital Wing in one piece. Potter was allowed to leave as soon as his headache cleared up, but Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep me for observation to make sure I didn't have any internal injuries or other complications.

I was sitting on my bed in the Hospital Wing reading _Män som hatar kvinnor_ and wishing I had my chainmail kit or even my schoolbooks so I could get some actual work done. Goyle was also there, being treated for blood loss after falling off his broom into a rose bush, but we both tried to avoid each other.

Colin Creevey came in to visit me, carrying a bit bouquet of pink and yellow roses. "Hey, Freyja, I brought you a surprise. I thought it would cheer you up!"

"Hei, Colin." I looked at the roses dubiously. They were nice enough flowers, I supposed, but not really my color – or Colin's. "Er, _tusen takk_. They're very, um, bright and cheerful."

"Those weren't the surprise," he reassured me. He got out his wand and muttered, "_Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._"

"I don't think that's a spell, Colin," I told him. "It's from _Lord of the Rings_."

"That was just to warm up," he told me. Then he flourished his wand and chanted "Epicus Doomicus Metallicus, Incendere Suus, Damnare Suus Vita, Dare Suus Ad Art Ventus!" and the roses turned into a floating skull wreathed in black flame with mysterious glowing eyes. The skull had an odd, translucent glow to it, like smoky quartz lit from within. It was a beautifully brutal piece of art. Even as a happily committed woman I had to admit, that was kind of sexy.

"Okay, that was pretty surprising," I told him. After looking around the room and not noticing any observers, I quickly cast a soundproofing charm around us and then asked, "Any lead on Neville?"

"I don't know anything besides what I told you."

"Have you had any chance to talk to Potter?" I asked.

"No, he went straight back to his bedroom after Pomfrey let him go. Said he had a headache."

"_Faen!_ He had some kind of vision when we were talking. Something about his scar hurting, and 'He' having Neville. By 'He' I think he means You-Know-Who, but he couldn't tell me anything else. And then the ceiling fell on us."

"Brutal," Colin said.

I watched the flickering light on the skull Colin had conjured and thought over everything that had happened lately, and what I should do next. "One of us needs to talk to Harry," I said. "He may hold the key to all this."

"I'll do it," said Colin, "if I can track him down."

"Maybe Loki or Hermione would help if he didn't want to talk about it to us," I suggested. "Loki's one of our band, and Hermione would be willing to talk about awkward subjects if it was for a good reason."

"That could work," Colin agreed. "And he'd have to come out for food and classes."

"How about you work on talking to your housemates, and I'll try to research anything that might be useful?"

"Okay. 'Bye, Freyja. Have a brutal day."

"Farvel." I dismissed the soundproofing charm but left Colin's flaming skull to stay there as a sort of brutal night light, and tried to come up with some ideas to defeat Voldemort and rescue my boyfriend.

When Madam Pomfrey decided that I had recovered sufficiently and wasn't secretly bleeding to death, I went back to Ravenclaw and changed into fresh clothes. I didn't feel like dressing up, so I just put on my jeans, my combat boots, an old Iron Maiden t-shirt with a long-sleeved fishnet undershirt underneath it, my school robe, and skull earrings. I didn't put on any makeup, but I did touch up my nails because the polish had chipped when I'd been clawing my way out from under the wreckage of the fallen ceiling.

I went to the library to look at the books on Forensic Divination (i.e. the useful kind that Professor Trelawney barely touched on) and see if it would be possible to trace Voldemort from the gun he gave me. I noticed Hermione seated at one of the tables, which was not unusual, but oddly enough, Loki and Grishnakh were with her.

I'd found a few potentially useful books, so I took them over to Hermione's table and sat down. "Hei, Hermione," I said wearily.

"Hello, Freyja," Hermione replied. She was looking at my face a little too intently and I suddenly wished I'd worn makeup, even though Hermione doesn't care about that sort of thing. "Freyja, you look awful!" Hermione said under her breath. "What did I tell you about having mead for breakfast?"

"I told you, I can handle it," I stage-whispered back. "I'm not a normal witch, remember? And I think I have a right to look bad, considering that my boyfriend was just kidnapped and then a ceiling fell on me!"

"Yes, Harry told me about Neville," she replied. "And I heard about the Incident in the tower as well. I've been trying to find something useful to do about it, but the lack of concrete information is not helping." She looked back at her books and muttered to herself, "Data, give me data! I can't make bricks without straw!" Grishnakh and Loki looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Since I wasn't making any useful progress," she continued, "I decided to spend my time constructively and do some work on one of my NEWTs projects, but if you have any useful leads I can certainly work on those instead. I'm ahead of schedule anyway."

"Yes," muttered Loki, "because we couldn't help save Neville from a murderous psychopath if it would put you behind on your schoolwork." Hermione glared at him and whacked him lightly with a rolled up piece of parchment.

"Guys-" Grishnakh said, and then he slumped over in his chair and clutched his forehead, and I could see his eyes roll up behind his glasses. After what was probably less than a minute, but felt longer, he blinked, winced, sat up straight, and told us, "I saw Neville. He's alive, for now. But Voldemort has him in some sort of dungeon."


End file.
